


Scoundrel

by Ian_the_Existential_Crisis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ian_the_Existential_Crisis/pseuds/Ian_the_Existential_Crisis
Summary: Amidst the scorching sands of the southern desert region lies a prison-like town, rumored to hold the worst of the worst. A place where the only escape would be the sweet release of death.It was no mistake that young Vernad was taken there. And that should have been the end of his story, but fate had another plan for the timid, young, rogue.





	Scoundrel

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I just wanted to save this here because I've been thinking of deleting my Wattpad. If I ever finish this, it will be a miracle. 
> 
> (11/22/2020) It does have a fandom feel to it. My hope was to give off the same vibes as like GoT, witcher, stuff like that. It comes with the fantasy

Our story could start with any of the many, many, people that messed up over the long history. How they had to go on some long and dismal journey to re-find themselves, triumph over evil, and ultimately save the world from ruin. How a young, strapping, person came to glory and overcame all.

That, however, is not this story. 

Our story begins in the jail town of Astamar. Buried under the desert sun and hidden from most by the days worth of seemingly endless sand, Astamar was a sweltering hell, which most dreaded finding themselves in. The perimeter bound by heavy chain fences to keep their prisoners in, not that Astamar had much trouble with the inmates escaping. Once out of the jail town, there was nothing but the heat and golden dunes. Surely, if there was anyone who dared be stupid enough to try to escape, they would perish before even reaching the small oasis town.

Not that many dared to escape anyways. The desert was nothing compared to the Warden of Astamar. The giant of a man, who claimed to be human though rumors of him said otherwise, was probably the scariest thing on the southern continent. The way his dark, mocha brown eyes watched every movement, somehow being able to know everything that everyone was doing, only scared the inmates of Astamar even more. He was a burly man, sunkissed arms usually folded over his broad chest, towering over any person who could have entered his sweltering realm. The only ones who could possibly beat him in size would have to be the Tardecian giants of the northern mountains. They did not traverse across the seas leisurely, nevermind the fact they hardly left their own mountainous domain. 

Yes, the Warden was a powerful man who saw all. If this had been a real town, not the prison of the sands, there would be no doubt he would be among the royal families living in comfort. But instead, he oversaw to everything that needed to be done. Any new persons in need of a job, albeit both were hard to come by as most people worked their job within the confines of the jail for either as long as they stayed or as long as they lived, he would be the one to appoint them. 

He even saw to punishing those flippant souls who didn't know their place. Those who underestimated the severity of both their own crimes and this place. And though there were other guards, he seemed to be the only one with real power, respect, and pride. The others were probably sent to this place young, to teach them discipline, the Warden had always been there. Many rumors stated him to be an immortal god, punished by his brethren, sent here in the scorching heat to want over the most tainted of souls.

He, of course, would state otherwise. 

And our story does indeed being with such an honorable and powerful man. It does not start in the middle of the night, with a family broken or dying. It does not start with some starry-eyed child wishing for a better life or a grand future. For this story is not about fate. 

No, our story starts under the sweltering sun. When the big, rough-looking, Warden meets the small, young, rogue. 

.

Dernadi was both relieved and disappointed that he was not on duty the day that the Warden finally let loose a vicious, what many thought would be head-shattering, punch. And though, Dernadi knew, the recipient had been a foul piece of criminal scum, he could help but to flinch as he heard of the story bright and early the next day. 

“So what happened to the poor sap?” He asked one of the other guards who had been present at the time. “Did the Warden kill the fool?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” His work-friend waved a half eaten potato skin in his face, making him flinch back as to not get grease on his cheek. “The slippery sonna bitch dodged his fist. I swear to ya though, I watched his fist graze the side of that ballsy kid’s temple. Bastard didn't even break a sweat. He just grinned at the Warden like he thought his punk ass was superior or some shit.”

“I didn't realize we had anyone here who dared stand against the Warden.” 

“I think someone better put that piece of trash in his place ‘for the Warden really kills him.” The other guard said, throwing the rest of his potato into his mouth, chewing while speaking. “Damn brat prolly just got a little lucky. Breakin’ his skull would prolly do that trash a favor.”

“This punk got a name?” Dernadi asked. “So I know who to look out for?”

“What's it matter in a place like this. That scum's just gonna rot away under this scorching sun like the rest of this garbage. No use getting attached.”

Dernadi frowned at the man. Yes, maybe he was right. These people were criminal scum who got sent here because of their own misdoings, however they there still people. They had names and lives before this place, for that Dernadi could empathize with this “show-off”. Perhaps he had yet to spend enough of his life in this uncouth place to fully understand his fellow guard. 

So he let the man ramble on about the day's events in his ear, eager to learn more. Even if some of the details seemed exaggerated and over the top, the tale of these two would surly be something he carried with him for a while. It did make him wonder if such a person could be real. A tiny, scrappy, fearless hooligan willing and able to annoy the most powerful man in the desert and walk away unscathed. 

"You make it too hard to believe him real, my friend." Dernadi slumped over his already finished meal tray. 

"Go. Ask anyone who was there. They will all agree."

"Bollocks." He said. "A nameless person who can stand against the Warden. How could anyone believe this tale you twist?"

"Never said he don't have one." The potato eating man mumbled. "Just said stuff like that don't matter in a place like this."

"Well friend." Dernadi slapped him on the back. His hand grazed the metal armor they adored to keep "the peace". "You're tale would be much more believable if this 'piece'a scum' had a name."

"As if a name holds that much power."

"More than you would know." Dernadi countered. 

He watched the man stab a fork into the rest of his meal. Frustration lingered on his face. "Vernad."

"Excuse me?"

"The nameless punk. He called himself Vernad. Said to the Warden himself that he best be remembering the name."

Dernadi's lip curled into a smile. "That sounds more believable."


End file.
